


Chocolate Mousse

by SLock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, entire life, life story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLock/pseuds/SLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain… symbolic. Each drop of water that hits the ground breaks, shattering into nothingness. What does one expect when water is so fragile, that a feather can cause a dent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Mousse

John and Sherlock were an equation, difficult to understand but they produced the right answer each and every time. They walked different paths in life. Sherlock came from a wealthy, broken family. His mother and father parted when he was young and to fix the scar that was left behind they draped it in money. Mycroft didn’t realise till it was far too late that Sherlock needed something more than money. John was the son of a single mother, they tread the bread line far too often and when they fell they often fell hard.  
John took to the army to escape while Sherlock took to drugs, at the end of their self-administered therapy they found each other. 

There wasn’t a word to give to the pair… they weren’t friends in the ‘average’ sense, they weren’t anything found in the movies. They were themselves and this was okay. 

-

The transition from themselves to lovers was like a duck taking to water, so easy and simple and with no need of training or a linear thought process. Their first kiss was dry, rough and so full of love. 

Sherlock had cracked a case, he was high of adrenaline and as it coursed through his brain it lit a thousand sparks… he needed to kiss the man who helped him… so he did just that. He pulled John away from the fridge and pressed his lips against his. John spluttered, but quickly melted into it like the icebergs of the Antarctic. 

It was Sherlock, who led John to the bedroom, and it was Sherlock who made John beg and plead and it was Sherlock who said it. ‘’You make me so happy.’’ 

-

There were times in their lives that had Sherlock and John wishing to be so far away from the other. Sherlock despised the moaning that fell from John whenever he let the place get a bit too dirty, and John despised the fact Sherlock let the place get too dirty. There were arguments and shouting and even though neither man wanted to admit it there was often private crying. 

Though, like a storm, there was always the sun to come. It often came out of nowhere and injected them with a shot of forgiveness and a pinch of love. 

-

Once upon a time, Sherlock was ill… the flu was the diagnoses set by his dear Doctor. Sherlock scoffed, but was denied a second opinion. For four days Sherlock lay curled up in his bed shivering, his brow dripped in sweat from heat but his feet curled in the cold. 

John didn’t leave his side if there was no need, he fed and bathed and changed the man when needed and soothed him with gentle words when it felt too much.  
Sherlock, unaware, fell more and more in love with John. He decided that he was going to be with John for the rest of his life. On the final day of his ill health he fell asleep with his hand wrapped tightly with John’s, the connection unbreakable. 

-  
Dinners were not a thing Sherlock liked to partake in, the act of sitting and eating seemed pointless when in the world there were more important things to do. Sherlock liked to think and eating was dull. 

However Sherlock knew that John liked to eat. So one Wednesday Sherlock dressed in his finest suit, and waiting in the living room for his Dear John to arrive home from work. When he finally did Sherlock instructed him to dress, to which he complied. 

They went to a small restaurant, one which many passed daily with no care for in the world. Yet it was John’s favourite restaurant for one reason, the chocolate mousse. 

After the lovely meal of pork chops and roast potatoes the desert came. John got his chocolate mousse while Sherlock got himself a slice of cheese cake. For a while they just ate, talked about nothing in particular. Then when John placed a mouthful of the mousse in his mouth he felt something strange. He pulled it out with a worried look, and then inspected the strange thing… a ring. 

It didn’t click until he looked up and saw Sherlock staring at him, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

‘’Yes’’ 

-

The wedding was small and simple. John was a pool of nerves all day, each time something not planned happened the pool span round and waves were caused. John feared a whirlpool would eventually happen leaving him as a shell of dust and death. 

He wore his army uniform, it was snug round his waist but it wasn’t noticeable. 

Sherlock walked down the aisle of the small cottage like church. John gasped when he saw the man; he wore a suit with a silver waist coat and a bow tie and upon his head was a top hat. 

He’s beautiful. 

The vows were read and with promises of an eternal love they kissed as man and groom, their fingers locked together… neither wanting to let go. 

-

Cases happened, short dull ones and big adventures that swept them too far off lands. They ran through the years in laughter and love and tears, their hands forever gripped as they stormed through the sea of crime! 

They had been married for three years when Sherlock flung an adoption form in front of John. They looked at each other, John was puzzled. It was the adoption form he had stored in a box shortly before he wedded Sherlock. Questions were asked and answers were given. John had wanted a child for such a long time, Sherlock had never given much thought to the idea till he had found the adoption form. 

Sherlock instructed John to inspect the form closely, and when he did he realised Sherlock had filled it in. All that was needed was John’s signature, to which he gave with the use of Sherlock’s pen. 

_

Children had a much larger impact in their lives than Sherlock previously though, yet he dealt with it easily enough. He loved Hamish, despite knowing there was no true biological connection he couldn’t help but image him to John with his cute button nose. John felt he was the spitting image of Sherlock, with dark curly hair and a pointy chin.  
Hamish was two when he came into their lives, he was the son of a prostitute and he had not even been in the system till he was found crying over his mother’s dead body in ruins of an old block of flats. 

He was already walking and talking, but each time he said a long word Sherlock felt his heart ooze with pride. Hamish was smart; he was his father in deed… which father though? 

-

Guns were in the job, and as Sherlock and John never aimed them they had to get use to them being aimed at them. Of the two hundred and fifty three times that Sherlock faced the barrel of the gun he had always been able to escape the bullet, he was smart and was able to talk himself out of any situation. 

Not this time though. 

No way a smart man can deal with a mental man, not when they both think the other peculiar. 

The bullet struck though the air, the tip blunt and bull but sharp on impact. Sherlock never liked his left thigh that much anyway. 

When he finally was released from Hospital he faced a scarier gun, he faced John. He was told, not asked – told, to give it all up. Before Hamish would John have told Sherlock to stop?

It took a while for Sherlock to see the reasoning behinds John’s demands but when he did it made sense. Sentiment, found on the losing side. Sherlock had won so many years ago when he kissed John. 

-

They stayed in London for four more years so Hamish could finish primary school, then they packed up 221B and left. Mrs Hudson had moved to the country before Sherlock and John had, she went to set up the new home that they would all be living in. Mrs Hudson wasn’t their land lady no more; she was Hamish’s grandmother, Sherlock’s mother, John’s mother-in-law… She was family. 

The new home was much larger than 221B, Sherlock and John took the master room of course. Mrs Hudson housed herself in side house which was once the home of the maids in the old times. One day Mrs Hudson went for a walk and when she came back she found that one of the boys had painted 221 on her front door. She smiled with nostalgia.  
Hamish took residence in the loft; he slept in a nest of blankets one end of the room while the rest of the room was dedicated to his astrology. Posters were pinned up and charts told the world of the moons position, it was the one area that Hamish would always beat Sherlock in. 

Who cares if the sun is a star? 

-

When Hamish was 18 he took a year out of education to travel, he wrote emails to his parents when he could get internet. For the first month the well-aged John would constantly refresh his internet in a hope of a new email. 

Sherlock occupied his time doing what he thought was much more important things than fretting over a young adult. Bee Keeping. Interesting hobby. Hamish had a chart showing the positions of the moon, whereas Sherlock had a chart showing the patterns of bee activity. 

When Hamish arrived back in England he was greeted at the airport by John and Sherlock and was swamped with hugs. 

\- 

Mrs Hudson had lived a long life, and when it was time for her to move on she did so with her usual smile and welcoming love. Sherlock and John mourned her so much, for they lost a mother that night. 

They held her hand and talked with her, and when she closed her eyes to sleep she was left in her own little 221 for one more night.

-

John and Sherlock knew they were too old to adopt another child, and they both wished they had been able to give Hamish a little brother or sister. The want for another child was easily transferable for the want of a pet. Sherlock adopted a dog, a Labrador, and named him Watsome. 

When questioned by Hamish about the peculiar name Sherlock informed his song that John’s former name was Watson, Watson and Holme when brought together was Watsome. 

Hamish Holmes never understood sentimentality. 

-

Mycroft passed away one night, it wasn’t expected and when the news was given to Sherlock he found himself crying. He loved his brother, he never said so but he did. Mrs Hudson, Hamish and John went to the funeral. Hamish never knew his uncle that well, but he knew that he was a man to be respected. 

Sherlock couldn’t attend; instead he gave his goodbyes in a way much more dearly to the pair of them. He went to their childhood home, locked up and covered in sheets. They shared a room up until Mycroft turned thirteen, then they were separated. In the shared room was a hole in the wall discovered by Sherlock at the age of three, it sat behind a broken panel. Together both Mycroft and Sherlock stole small things from around the house and stored them there. 

One night, Sherlock was angry with Mycroft, and stole his teddy and chucked it in the hole. Mycroft knew where it was, but he never went about trying to retrieve it. Today, Sherlock would give it back. 

-

Hamish was thirty, according to the files on record. No one truly knew the date of Hamish’s birthday. All anyone knew was that it was in March. 

He requested a meal with his parents seeing no need to have a party. Hamish brought along Megan, his girlfriend of six years. For desert was chocolate mousse, Sherlock and 

John knew smirked at each other through wrinkled eyes at its meaning to them. 

Megan took a mouthful of hers, and gasped as she spat into a tissue a ring. 

''Yes''

 

-  
When Sherlock and John were told they were to be grandparent’s two entirely different reactions took place. Sherlock almost fainted and John screamed in delight. 

Megan went through pregnancy with ease, and brought into the world two young girls. 

John swore that they looked like Sherlock, Sherlock swore they looked like John. 

Una and Harriet were delightful babies, with button noses, dark curly hair and sharp chins. 

Mrs Hudson, had she been alive, would have been knitting the children cardigans left right and centre, but as it was they felt a new little dog would suffice. Watsome had passed away long ago, and the joy he had brought was strong and everlasting. 

Howling was the joy for the new Holmes family. 

-

Sherlock lived to the ripe old age of seventy two before finally releasing Johns hand with a few words, ‘’Do you think Mrs Hudson has any cakes?’’ 

His eyes closed for a final time, his mouth took its final breathe, and he received his final tear stained kiss from a man who shaped his life. 

-

Rain… symbolic. Each drop of water that hits the ground breaks, shattering into nothingness. What does one expect when water is so fragile, that a feather can cause a dent?

When water hits earth, the earth soaks in the liquid drinking it with a need. It is the final drop of energy it needs to grow new life, to feed life, it hold life… to hold the dead. 

A hole in a ground is much more than just a hole in the ground, it is a shell waiting to be filled. 

John stands with everyone else, words that fall out of the vicars mouth are numb to him… he hears them but he doesn’t feel them. He can’t feel them… 

-

The sun was settling down to bring forward the dark night that was alit with a thousand stars. He smiled as he went to sleep, his hand open and ready to clasp the man he loved. 

That night, the sky welcomed in a new star… and still Sherlock didn’t care for space for John took all it up.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written where a character had died, and I hope I did okay. Not my usual style but I was just experimenting, seeing what fit.  
> I hope everyone likes this and it would, like usual, mean a lot for a bit of feedback so please let me know what you think. 
> 
> Also - thanks to everyone who gave my a kudos on my last fic :) Makes me smile!!


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